Stars Set Alight
by ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: Eight years after Paris, Miranda and Andrea found that their lives conspired to bring them back to one another, first as acquaintances, then as friends, and now, they're something...more.
1. Prologue

**Summary**: Eight years after Paris, Miranda and Andrea find their lives conspiring to bring them back to one another, first as acquaintances, then as friends, and then perhaps as something more.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, never was, never will be.

**Rating**: T for now

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><p><em>"I wonder," he said, "whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one of us may find his own again..."<em>

**Prologue**

When Andrea Sachs was seven, her best friend, Bobby McLaughlin from next door had moved away. Her oma gathered her up in her arms and let her cry it out before she wiped her granddaughter's tear stained face and told her in her accented English: "Andrea -"

"Andy, oma -"

"Andy is a name for silly boys and you are neither a boy, nor silly. You are smart and capable, and one day you will grow into a beautiful woman-"

"Like mama?"

"Yes, like your mother. And it's time you learned a little secret about life."

"A secret?"

"Yes liebchen. Man trifft sich zweimal im Leben. Do you know what that means? Even though your friend has moved, you'll meet him again. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow. But no one important ever leaves our lives forever. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Andy nodded as she lied. Her opa was never coming back after they put him in the ground, and he was important to Andy.

"Good - now oma can't feel her legs. So get up and play." And with that, she handed Andy a gold wrapped caramel and sent her on her way.

The first time Andy Sachs and Miranda Priestly run into each other, years after Runway, it's both a coincidence and a collision.

Andy, tipsy and teetering in too-high heels is arm in arm with Doug, as they help keep each other upright. They're not drunk yet, but they will be by the time they get home. They're laughing about something loudly as they collide into softness and cashmere coats.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Watch where you're - Six?!"

"Nigel!"

They laugh and hug and ask questions on top of one another as they step back. For a moment, neither of them notice the chill as Miranda steps out and observes the moment. "How are you doing?" Andy asks as Nigel.

"Oh my god - I'm great - but what are you doing here?"

"We're just drinking away Doug's latest heartache and -"

"Excuse me, just Doug's?" Doug teases as he extends his hand out to shake.

"Yes." Andy replies, pointedly, "Just Doug's." It's not until Doug turns to introduce himself to the person that appeared to Nigel's side that Andy sees her. "Oh! Miranda! Hi! You um, probably don't remember me, but I was your second assistant ages ago - "

"Don't be ridiculous Andrea. One doesn't forget being stranded in Paris by their second assistant. Contrary to your behavior, it's not a common occurrence."

"Yeah, about that -" She blushes and begins to apologize.

"It was the past." There is a firm end to that line of conversation. "Although it is nice to see you've managed to retain some of Nigel's teachings."

"As well as yours." Almost drunk, and certainly at a disadvantage of being caught off guard by Miranda's presence, Andy squares her shoulders for a moment and both women regard each other. Neither of them blink or move as their eyes lock, almost daring the other to move away. She's not the girl she was when she last saw the woman, standing outside, waving like a child. She's 32 and a writer and somehow managed to become someone stronger, kinder, tougher - it's due, in a not-so-small way, to the woman before her. It's not until Miranda shifts her lip into a ghost of a smirk that Andy blinks and suddenly doesn't feel the November chill. She doesn't see or hear anything either. She just... can't stop thinking how good it is to see Miranda.

A sleek car pulls up to the curb by the group and sound enters back into her world. "Your last article, the one about the challenges in transitioning technology trends from the West to the East coast... wasn't awful. The middle lagged, but that's as much the editor's fault as yours and the end brought it back quite skillfully."

"Wait..." Andy asks, as Miranda is about to step into the car, door held open by Nigel. "You read my article?"

"Yes, well... it was an exceptionally slow news day." And with that, the door closes, separating the two women and leave Nigel and Andy to exchange hasty goodbyes. "It's good to see you. Drinks next week." Nigel states, "And bring Doug." He whispers in her ear as he places quick pecks on her each cheek.

The car pulls away and Andy and Doug link arms once more and begin to walk home, but the air around them is subdue. It's as if Doug can see Andy fall down the rabbit hole of her thoughts. He's seen it often enough. "So that was the Dragon Lady, live and in concert?"

"No." She corrects him, "That was Miranda."

The friends hug goodnight at the stairs then split off to their separate apartments. Andy feels cold. She's been cold since Miranda complemented her. Well... her writing. She changes quickly and climbs into bed and from her bedside drawer pulls out a gold foil wrapped caramel and pops it into her mouth in hopes that she can get warm again. As she drifts off to sleep, half-mesmerized by the patterns of shadow and light coming from the traffic lights shining through her blinds, she thinks of her oma, and of how her first college boyfriend turned out to be Bobby from next door and that Miranda read her article.

Andy arrives to work the next morning with a splitting headache and a cup of scalding coffee which she almost spills all over herself when she sees the bottle of San Pellegrino and a fresh box of tylenol.

Crosstown, Miranda quickly scrawls the "Editor's Note", pen to paper, a comment about running into an old acquaintance and the passing of time, the maturing of self and other. Very little thought goes into it, she rather let her work speak to her audience indirectly through every other page of the magazine. She leaves it on the desk for the Assistants to deal with.


	2. Karma, Coffee and Street Corner Pizza

Summary/Rating/Disclaimer - found on first entry.

**Chapter One**

Andy's pretty certain that it's a form of karmic retribution to be assigned a newb from the paper's semester-long internship program. It's as if the universe wants to illustrate to her how infuriating it was to have a 24 year old assume that pluck and earnestness was all it took to get ahead in life. It was those interns who looked at her as if they pitied her, for not having the term 'Pulitzer Prize Winning Writer' as her honorific, or who were determined to ass kiss their way past her. It was the same way she looked at others once, a lifetime ago, convinced that she could and would succeed where they failed. And for the most part, she had. She had a comfortable life. She was finally a respected writer at the Mirror, had covered the last election, had covered the withdrawal of troops (and their subsequent return to America), she had freelanced and ghostwrote articles for Vanity Fair, Time, Rolling Stone, The Atlantic - and, her proudest accomplishment, Harper's.

All in all, Andrea Sachs was pretty happy where her life was at this moment. She had an apartment that she could pay rent on all on her own (no small feat in New York), she had a handful of friends that should call on for brunch or bail (this wasn't hyperbole, but had indeed had to call Doug for bail after covering the Occupy riots), she even had a savings account. It was a good life, if not extraordinary. Yes, sometimes she got cold in bed and wished for another body to curl up to, and yes, she wished she could bring home someone for the holidays, or share a bottle of wine with, but other than that, she was quite content. At times, she could even say she was happy.

Taking a deep breath and sending a prayer up to whichever deity it was who dealt out karmic blessings for an intern who was better than the asshat from last year, Andy pushes open the door to her office (a recent promotion which still manages to make her smile every time she sees her name painted on the door) and steps in to greet her new shadow.

Standing at the window, looking down at the traffic on the streets is a young woman, strawberry blonde hair neatly braided, dressed in jeans and a white blouse. Her equestrian boots are brown leather and beautiful and for a moment, Andy is taken aback by how this ... child really, seems to belong in that office more than Andy does. Realizing the office door has opened, the woman turns and Andy smiles. For all of her clothes and her regality, this was a young woman, clearly nervous and clearly eager to make a good impression. "Ms. Sachs, hi. I'm sorry, they said to wait for you here and I wasn't sure how long you'd be and - anyways... I'm rambling. I'm really excited to meet you."

"I'm glad to meet you as well," Andy smiles as she drops some files onto her desk, "But I feel I'm at a bit of a disadvantage. You know about me, but I don't know much about you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She wipes her hands on her jeans before reaching out to to shake Andy's. "I'm the intern assigned to you. I'm Caroline. Caroline Priestly."

Andy was very glad to have put the files down, because if she held on to them, she'd have dropped them for certain.

"Ah. You knew I was coming right, I wasn't like, a total shock or anything?"

"You know," Andy said, sidestepping the question as she grabbed her wallet from the top of the drawer, "Let's grab a cup of coffee."

It was over the cup of coffee that Andy realized a number of things:

1) Caroline didn't remember her. And why should she? Save for a handful of conversations through the railing and one ill-gotten manuscript, their interactions were minimal.

2) Caroline is incredibly intelligent. In fact, Caroline may actually be as smart as Andy though she was when she was that age.

3) Caroline is ... the type of person she'd be friends with in school. Smart, with a wickedly sharp sense of humor buried beneath the quiet exterior, betrayed by nothing more than a twinkle of blue eyes or a slight curve of her lips.

It's not until they're at the end of their coffee and have exchanged thoughts on recent world events, past projects, schools that Andy has Caroline relaxed enough to ask what Caroline has danced around all morning. "So, do you want me to ask?"

"About?"

"..." Andy raises a single eye and purses her lips.

"My mother?"

"No. I know all about your mother." Andy notices Caroline's lips straighten into a straight line and her shoulders straighten for a fight. "As much as any assistant of hers can know about the great Miranda Priestly. Do you want me to ask about how you got this internship? It's pretty competitive."

"Same as the other interns. I worked for it and I applied for it and I begged every prof of mine for letters of reference. My mother had nothing to do with it. In fact, she's less than pleased -"

"That it's the Mirror?"

"No, that I didn't ask her for help. I even applied under a fake name to make sure she didn't find out."

"Never underestimate a Priestly."

"Pretty much. Listen Andy - I worked my ass off to get here. I'm excited to learn from the ground up. But if you don't think you can teach me everything I need, then I need to find -"

"Hold your horses there - no one can teach you everything you need. But I admire what you did, so I have no problems with you, or your mother." For all she could say about Miranda Priestly, she was a much better person having lived through her. Nobody had expected such levels of excellence, of perfection before, even from something as simple a coffee order. "I just want to make it clear, I'm going to be tough on you not because who you are or what your name is, but because if you're going to be as amazing as you can be, you've got to build a thick skin..."

And that's how Caroline Priestly returned into Andy's life again.

Truth be told, it made Andy feel old to realize that the demon child she used to be terrified of was the grown woman who sat beside her on the subway, or grabbed her coffee, or who fact-checked for her. Much like her mother, Caroline had a eye for detail and often brought a unique angle to whatever the assignment or story was. She picked up the names and roles of almost everyone in the building and was keen on learning from every last one of them. They very quickly became friendly - between sharing lunches, or darting across the city chasing leads or interviewing people, there was a lot of time to get to know one another. Friendly became friends, starting with running into Caroline and her boyfriend Josh at a concert, then the occasional drink after work (which would lead to street corner pizza, because why not?).

In fact, it was due to one of those less-than-sober nights eating scalding slices of pizza somewhere along First Ave, where Andy and Josh convince Caroline to go ahead with Cassidy's text-based demands for a birthday party.

And it's that very birthday party that brings Miranda Priestly back into Andy's life again.


	3. Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh

Summary/Rating/Disclaimer - found on first entry

AN - Firstly, sorry for the delay! I'm about 10 chapters in and realized I had to rework the first few, so :/ My goal is to post pretty consistently now that the whole story is outlined and I'm already half-way through. Second of all - Korea Town is amazing and incredible and if you're in New York, you should totally swing by!

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Two**

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The plan for the party, as much as Caroline + Cassidy explained to her over an impromptu coffee date last weekend was karaoke and drinking until their voices were hoarse, then all the Korean barbecue they could handle, then a 4a trip to the bath house next door for just the two of them. They had their fill of over-the-top extravaganzas in their youth and as life got increasingly busy, they had discovered the simple pleasures of spending time with each other and their friends. "Mom's invited, obviously -"

"But can you imagine her stepping foot in that bar?" Cassidy asked, her eyebrow raised in a perfect homage to the woman in question. "Or the bath house?" Caroline chimed in. There was no need to answer, all three women knew that the great Miranda Priestly would never deign to enter such places, even for her darling daughters. "So we're doing dinner with her -" Caroline begins to explain.

"The next night." Cassidy finishes.

"Obviously." Andy laughs, her head almost spinning trying to keep up with them. When the two of them got together, they reverted back to their childhood patter, talking over one another, finishing each other's sentences and thoughts. Contrary to popular belief about twins, they weren't drastically different. They were as alike and as different as any two sisters, both smart, both strong, both driven, albeit in two different paths. While Caroline was drawn to writing and journalism, Cassidy was drawn to maths. She was studying something so abstract and theoretical that Andy wasn't sure she could even spell it if pressed, let alone explain it. Her friendship with Cassidy grew almost as naturally as her friendship with Caroline, with one sister showing up with the other occasionally in tow.

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><p>.<p>

Stepping onto the sticky floor of the karaoke bar somewhere above a 24 hour Korean barbecue place in Midtown, Andy realizes she's not a twenty-something any more, and is thankful for that fact. The Priestly twins had booked out the karaoke bar for their 23rd birthday and it was packed. Depositing her gifts on the pile in a booth, Andy reserves her spot on the karaoke queue and makes her way to through the crowd to the birthday girls.

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Meanwhile...

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As she made her way up the stairs, sticky with what she hopes is beer and not any bodily functions, Miranda is glad for the subtle warning her second assistant Erica provided her with when she noticed the karaoke bar on Miranda's schedule. She was too smart to ask why, only mentioning that she had been there once and would Miranda like her to fetch a change of clothes from the Closet. So Miranda is now clad in something suitably disposable. She may have given up her body and her hair colour for her children, but she'd be damned if she'd sacrifice her favorite vintage Chanel suit. Besides, their birthday isn't until tomorrow.

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The room is blue-lit and smoky - she can't tell if it's from the restaurant below or cigarette smoke or even artificial smoke designed to remind them all of the days of smoking indoors (do these children even remember those days?). Either way, she doesn't care for it. She almost regrets coming, but knows the shock on her Bobbsey's faces will be worth it. Their boyfriends have been made aware of her plans to visit for a few minutes, a subtle request to keep debauchary in check until after she leaves. She was 23 once and is aware what happens, but just because she knows, doesn't mean she needs to witness it. From the door, she looks out, searching for the girls - with their light hair in the blue light, it's not difficult to spot them, together, in the centre of a group. They're lovely. Of course they are. They're her children. But more than being just lovely to look at, they are lovely women. She sometimes wonders on empty nights at home how they became as lovely as they did. She wasn't home as often as she'd like, she provided a horrible example of romantic love, or even friendship. And yet, here they were, surrounded by friends. Miranda knew life would get difficult for her daughters, but she said a small prayer that they would be able to hold onto moments like this for as long as possible.

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She feels more tired than she had originally thought, and decides to stay for only a few moments before leaving. She makes her way towards her girls when her eye catches...something. She's used to this in a way. A sudden glimpse of something as she's in her car, or entering a building for a meeting, boarding a plane - all sorts of innocuous places and activities catch her eye and leave her mind wandering and wondering with the possibilities. It's the source of her ideas and her inspirations and this is no exception. Beside Cassidy is a cascade of brown hair, strong jaw, marble skin, crooked smile - beautiful, but not a beauty. Familiar, but refreshing. She's talking, hands animated, and it's not until her head turns and she looks directly into Miranda does she recognize Andrea. Based on the way the Andrea's eyes light up and her arm goes up to wave, she's recognized as well. Quickly her girls turn to see her, grins all across their faces! It's moments like this that breaks Miranda's heart with love for her girls. Because at 23, they are still capable of having a carefree night that.

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The girls quickly wrap her up in hugs and introduce her to the rest of the group - interrupted by applause as the latest singer on stage finishes their song and then announces "Next one up is... Andy! Where are you Andy?!" The group around them cheer loudly and whoop and even in the eery light, Miranda can see the other woman's face take on a blush as she's pushed towards the stage.

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"Oh god - this is embarrassing." Andrea mutters into the mike as she squints out into the audience. "I'm not nearly drunk enough to do this and you're all nearly not drunk enough to think I sound good... You guys out there have to help me, promise?" A beat familiar to even Miranda begins as Cassidy leans her head on her mother's shoulder and whispers, "This is going to be soooo bad!"

"Like cats, Andrea is quite skilled at landing on her feet dearest, I wouldn't worry too much about her."

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When Andrea gets to the backing vocals, as iconic as anything else in pop music, Miranda recalls the song and smiles. The memories she had of this song... She begins to feel warm at the memories. Her foot begins to tap as the party begins to sing along with Andrea, the room echoing with the rhythmic oooohhs. The song ends, and the party begins talking again, as Andrea hands the microphone off to the next person and makes her way through the crowds to them. "Ladies, I believe I saw your names coming up..." She teases as she walks by them towards the bar. She smiles at Miranda but doesn't say anything more.

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It's not until the girls are mid-song, something awful that Andrea returns, offering one of two bottles of San Pellegrino to Miranda. "You don't work for me anymore Andrea." She remarks, but accepts the bottle. The smoke has irritated her throat.

"Old habits die hard." Andrea volleys, her eyes sparkling.

"Does that explain your outfit?"

"That's it? That's the best remark you've got for me? Call Page Six, I think you've lost your touch." Andrea nudges her playfully, shoulder to shoulder.

"Perhaps my heart isn't into making you cower in fear anymore?"

"Really? Then what is your heart into these days?" The question itself is fairly innocent, all the same, she can't help but feel startled at it. "Consider it a thank you." Andrea continues, sipping from the bottle, "The tylenol came in handy, I hate to say."

"I had a feeling it would. To be young and foolish." Miranda smirks.

"To being young and foolish then," Andy toasts, tapping her bottle against Miranda's. "Although this room is making me feel one much more than the other." Noticing two seats open up at the bar, she guides them over.

"I wanted to thank you..." Miranda finally begins, looking at the bartender instead of the woman now seated at her elbow. "For being so careful of Caroline. A less gracious person would take advantage of the situation."

"That was almost a complement Miranda. Perhaps you really have lost your touch." Andy teases. "Caroline got the job on her own. She's smart, resourceful, driven, and as hard working as she is talented, much like her mother."

"Yes well, let's hope that's all she inherits from her mother."

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They sit in silence for a moment before Andy asks, "When I was up there I could see you, and you were looking so..."

"Use your words dear."

"I'm trying to select the right one - there's a bit of performance anxiety happening right now."

"Do you know," Miranda begins, gazing at their reflection in the mirror behind the bar and changing the topic, "That this was all the garment district?" She speaks so softly that Andy has to lean in to hear.

"It still is."

"No, what I mean, they used manufacture here. Armies of cutters and pattern makers and seamstresses and tailors worked here. This building was so familiar when the car pulled up, and it's not until we sat down that I recalled that this was one of the fitting studios. These mirrors are older than the girls." She pulls out her phone and taps a few short words. "Well thank you Andrea. It was unexpected, but lovely to see you." Her voice changes, reverts back to standard volume.

"Are you leaving? So soon?"

"Erica will be stoping by with the book soon."

"Of course..." Andy gets up, "I should be going too. Do you mind if I walk out with you?"

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"I'm not as young as I once was Miranda." She smirks, "Neither of us are." Waving goodbye to the girls across the room, they take their leave, Shoulder to shoulder through the crowd.


	4. She's a Hypnotist Collector

Summary/Rating/Disclaimer - found on first entry. This chapter contains references to Bob Dylan's 'She Belongs to Me'. If you're not a Dylan fan, I suggest giving Ane Brun's cover a listen to.

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Three**

"Hey, mind some company for dinner?" Caroline asks Andy as they begin wrapping up for the day. "Cass said she snagged tickets for the show tonight."

"Sure - she ok with Thai? Because I'm having a craving for the drunken noodle around the corner from Carnegie."

"When is she _not_ ok with Thai food?" Caroline teases as they head out the door.

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><p>.<p>

Cassidy is already waiting for them when they get to the restaurant, an almost underground place a few blocks away. "Who's the fourth?"

Andy asks as they seat themselves down. "Oh, maybe mom. She said she may try to make it after all. Apparently, and I quote: the staff showed less incompetence than usual."

"High praise indeed." Andy remarked, taking a sip of water.

"How is it, Andrea, that I have gone so many years without once crossing paths with you and now, here you are, practically around every corner?" A familiar voice remarked, causing the brunette to all but choke on her water. While Miranda's voice is dripping with sarcasm, a quick glance up reveals despite a firmly set pair of lips and a single raised brow, her eyes have a hint of a sparkle.

"Just your good fortune." Andy remarks, smirking. "You should buy a lottery ticket on your way home."

"I'll be sure to do that. Hello dears..." They all rise, and Miranda briefly pecks them on the cheek as greeting, including Andrea. Andy had forgotten how heady Miranda's particular scent could be.

"Did you have a hard time finding this place mom?" Cassidy asks after the waiter has taken their orders.

"No dear, I think I've finally gotten the hang of navigating New York." She responds with a smirk. "Although I have never been here. The walls..." She raises a hand to the intricately carved tableaus that cover the walls from floor to ceiling.

"Are beautiful, aren't they?" Andy asks, touching an elephant beside Miranda's hand. "It reminded me of being back in Thailand."

"Have you gone?" Miranda asks, her fingers still hovering by the elephant between them.

"Twice. Once for a wedding, and once after a long project ended. Yourself?"

"A few times. Thank you." She withdraws her hand as the waiter places their meals before them. "Should I be concerned by how quick that was?"

"A perk of being a regular, apparently." Caroline smirks at Andy. "So, is this a meal break, mom, or is the warden actually going to take a night off and join us?"

"The Warden?" Andy asks between bites.

"The children's nickname for me. Other mothers get such cloying ones. Nothing like those my loving children provide for me." She plucks a piece of chicken from her plate before proceeding, "If it doesn't interrupt your plans, I was thinking of attending. I ended up missing Bob's last show in the city."

"Bob?"

"Dylan." Cassidy answers.

"The headliner." Caroline explains.

"I know, sorry, I just... haven't heard him referred to as Bob is all..."

"Yes well, now you have. Who else is playing?"

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><p>.<p>

After dinner, they wander the few blocks to Carnegie Hall, the twins, catching up on each other's lives with a rapid fire exchange ahead of them. "I'll be honest, I wouldn't have taken you for a Dylan fan," Andy began as they make their way through the crowd pouring into the lobby. "Dare I ask why not?" Miranda asks as she wordlessly guides them to the VIP lounge behind some makeshift curtains. "I'm not sure...too counterculture perhaps?"

"And I am the establishment?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to. Two San Pellegrinos, two gin and tonics." She requests from a wandering waiter as they settle at a small table. "I remember now, a faint memory of your righteous indignation at working at something as frivolous as Runway."

"The girls?" Andy asks, desperate to change the subject.

"Will find us. We however we discussing your inability to vocalize your thoughts - in this case, on my role in culture. This hesitation in speaking, this is new and I don't think I care much for it. Is that why you take to writing? The distance to organize words into neat little sentences?"

"Writing should be neat."

"Writing should be structured. True writers rarely write neat. Neat is polite, Andrea. Neat bows before and serves and preserves the establishment. I should know, shouldn't I?" Miranda's blue eyes twinkle and Andy smiles, realizing the other woman is enjoying this. They are running through paces they don't often get to run with others. "It depends on what the purpose of the writing is, doesn't it? If I am informing you of the weather, or the results of an election -"

"All the more reason to take a risk. Take Bob, Mr. Dylan, if you insist. The man took the neat songs and repurposed them into rallying cries."

"You could also say he stole these neat songs from other cultures."

"As his own culture was stolen from him? What is the truism, good artists borrow, great artists steal?"

"But is that justification? Can you justify or excuse an act of cultural re-appropriation with this own cultural history?"

"But who or what decides on what cultural re-appropriation is? Are we to stay in our safe little boxes in our safe little worlds? Should one never evolve from that coltish child from the midwest to this worldly woman trading philosophical discussions on art and culture."

"How..." Andrea lowers her head and blushes as she tries to hide her smile. "How did we get here?"

"We crossed 57th and..."

"I meant the conversation."

"Ah." Miranda places her hand on Andrea's, resting on the table beside her drink. "Because I willed it. Caroline sees you as a mentor and I wanted to see if you were worthy of it."

"Am I?"

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Miranda simply smiles like the sphinx before taking a final sip. "I do believe they're beginning soon. Are you working tonight?"

"If you can call doing a concert feature work, then yes."

"You're seated in the press box?"

"Yes, shall I walk you to your seat?"

"As we're neighbors, you may walk with me, yes. Did you have a chance to speak to Bob?"

"No, I managed to speak to the other performers, why they're participating in the fundraiser but he was booked." Together, they make their way through the bodies streaming into the auditorium.

"Shame." Miranda realizes that she's standing alone, with a quick look back, she sees Andrea stopping a step behind, taking a look around at the modest venue. "Andrea?"

"Sorry," She quickly returns beside Miranda and they continue walking down the aisle.

"Your first time at Carnegie?"

"Not at all, but every time I...It's silly. But I'm always just, in awe of everyone who's ever played here. Like, can you imagine?"

"I can."

"You know, my mother's greatest dream was to play piano on this stage."

"Your mother plays piano?

"Not well, but a little. She's a science teacher. But she's always said, it's good to have dreams, no matter how silly, it's good to have hope." Andrea ducks her head again, "Sorry, I... don't know why that came up."

"I'm not. Sorry that is. We must hope for everything."

"Euripides. Here we are." Andrea gestures to the press box is nothing more than a row of folding chairs in the open area between the front of the orchestra seating and the stage.

"Indeed."

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Andy quickly drops off her belongings and makes her apologizes as leaves to begin work, promising to return as the performances start.

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"What did you and Andy get into mom?" Cassidy asked, "We turned around and you two were gone."

"We were just speaking dear."

"About?" Caroline prodded.

"I don't know, what does one talk about with that girl? This and that. Now, tell me all about school Cassidy. Your thesis is coming along?" She tunes out the answer, knowing Cassidy's penchant for going into minute details about her studies. She glances around at all the 'names' and their hangers on who circulate, waiting for the concert to begin, some benefit for or another. Frankly, she's getting so tired of all of them, one after another. Benefit concerts are the new runway shows, new film openings - a necessary and annoying part of her job. She's glad she rose through the ranks when she did, without all this aggressive self-promotion. When did people find the time to actually work while they were posing for an incessant number of selfies, usies, paparazzi shoots and sex tapes?

True to her word, Andy returns as the lights go down and shuffles into the only available seat left, beside Miranda. She dutifully jots notes down on a pad of paper, and pulls her iPad out during act changes to draft the interviews and notes into a cohesive article. She makes the occasional comment, participating the the Priestly women's conversation, but remains wholly focused on her work. A quality Miranda finds unsurprising but refreshing. In fact, it's not until the final act of the evening that she sees Andrea pause working. She can't help but find her eyes drifting to the young woman bathed in the castoff stage lights beside her, study her profile, her posture (which is atrocious truth be told), the way she bit her lip to keep from mouthing the words. This woman was... curious. How does someone remain as guileless as she had in a city like this? From the depths of her memory she can vaguely recall a scene in Paris, with Andrea fleeing from her. How can it be that now she's here, willingly, if not for some ulterior motive. Perhaps she spoke too soon about her kindness towards Caro, perhaps this was all -

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As the next song begins, Miranda notices Andrea's breath catch as she grabs Miranda's hand in her excitement. "This is my favorite!" She whispers reverently, a blinding smile breaking out across her face before she returns her attention to the stage.

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Andrea can't help but squirm in her seat, with joy - here she is, less than 15 feet away from this legend, singing her favorite song. She can't help but mouth along to the words:

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"She's an artist, she don't look back, she can take the dark out of nighttime, and paint the daytime black."

.

This was the song that helped her pick herself up from whatever disappointments life handed to her. One day, she would tell herself, she would be as mysterious, as enchanting as the woman he was singing about... She feels something in her hand and a look down reveals Miranda's hand still grasped between her fingers. She quickly drops it, as if it burns her very skin and turns her attention back to the stage with a quick "Sorry."

.

"She never stumbles, she's got no place to fall. She never stumbles, she's got no place to fall. She's nobody's child. The law can't touch her at all."

.

Andrea can feel her cheeks burn and she can't help but look back to Miranda who is looking at her instead of the stage. Miranda, who responds with a raised eyebrow and a pursed lip, questioning her without words. "You." Andrea begins, realizing they're seated incredibly close together. How did she not notice this before? This song was about Miranda, at least it was to her.

.

"She's a hypnotist collector. You are a walking antique. Bow down to her on Sunday, salute her when her birthday comes"

.

Andy turns away, suddenly embarrassed at her childlike response. This song wasn't about Miranda. It was about Joan Baez, and an amalgamation of other women. All of whom were as curiously mysterious as Miranda. No wonder he was compelled enough to write about their power, he had no choice, he was powerless against them. As was anyone against Miranda. Even in the dark, she appeared singularly lit from within and without, and no matter what she told herself, she would never be that woman. She would never know what that power felt like, to bring grown men to their knees with just her presence. She would always be a coltish child from - "Andrea!" Miranda's sharp reprimand pulled her from her spiral, "Stand."

"Right," Andrea stood to join the crowd, applauding at the end. "Standing."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes... I am, sorry. I got..."

"Lost. He can do that." The older woman gazed on her, deciding if she wanted to press the issue, but decided against it. "When's your article due?" She asks as Andrea automatically helps her into her coat.

"Oh, in about 45 minutes or so." She answers as she clears a path for Miranda and the girls through the crowd towards the street.

"Hmmmm... Just enough time to get you backstage then." Miranda explains as her car pulls up to the curb. "At the door, ask for Monica. Let her know I sent you. She'll get you a couple of minutes with Bob. Girls, if I'm dropping you home..."

"Bye Andy!"

"See you tomorrow!"

"Bye!" She hugs the girls, but before she gets to Miranda, the woman is already in the car. "Remember, Monica. Now go." She calls from the window before the car pulls away, leaving Andy alone and stunned on the street.

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><p>.<p>

The next morning, Andy wakes to a text from Doug containing a blurry black and white photo. She can't make out the blurry blobs, but the caption reads "The Dragon, Miranda Priestley, babysits her daughters and a friend". Andy drags herself out of bed with the sneaking suspicion that this day will only get worse.


	5. Come On-A My House

**Summary/Rating/Disclaimer** - found on first entry.

**AN** - took a bit of a hiatus while I plotted out, figured out and fixed a few future plot holes. I should be back to posting pretty regularly as I'm a few chapters ahead. This is turning out to be a bit of a long-haul story, so I appreciate you sticking around :)

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Four**

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"Let me get this straight," Andy begins, pushing the shopping cart through the after-work crowds at Trader Joe's, "You dumped David, soooo..."

"So we eat pasta."

"And drink wine."

"A lot of both."

"It's like, tradition."

"Like, Christmas."

"But like, more frequent?"

"I was going to say fun."

"Breaking up is fun for you?" Andy asked as she watched the twins toss in their items as quickly as they tossed about their lines, breaking down to add a box of chocolate covered s'mores.

"Not the breaking up part, that's necessary - but this part... I don't know... It always reminds me of... Help me out here Caro, you're the writer with the words." Cassidy teased, "You know what I'm trying to say."

"Sure. Andy, were you ever scared or confused?"

"You mean, more than watching you two share a brain right now?" The twins merely roll their eyes as they navigate into line. "Yeah, I mean, who hasn't been scared?"

"And what makes you feel...safe, or better?" Cassidy begins.

"It's something silly right?" Caroline explains, trudging forward in the queue. "Like, so silly you'd laugh, except you don't want us to laugh so you won't tell us. Well, this was the same. Is the same. After any sort of major relationship change, we kinda... just... Get together and eat pasta -"

"Mom too," Cassidy interjects, "And she's not allowed to say anything about carbs or waistlines! We eat pasta and drink some wine, and just...have fun."

"And you're going to share that with me?" Andy asks, smiling at the thought, "Guys, I'm..."

"You're not going to start crying are you?"

"Shut up, no! I'm... I feel really special that I've been invited to participate in Pasta-palooza!"

"Don't call it that." Cassidy deadpans.

"Especially not in front of mom." Caroline confirms.

"Ever."

The identical looks on their faces suggest they aren't joking.

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><p>.<p>

The smell of something delicious hits Miranda immediately, followed by the sounds of Mel Tormé. The thought that the whole of her house smells of garlic is a distant secondary thought. "Bandits who make dinner? New York really has changed from the dark days, dear." Nigel quips as he steps in behind her. "Now that would be a spread, wouldn't it?" She ponders, "The gritty heyday of 42nd and the independent boutiques of the 70s versus the clean, cookie cutter streets and shops of now. An American Apparel on every corner."

"The advertisers would hate you."

"More than they already do?" Miranda deadpans. "Is that possible? Girls, I'm home!"

.

They shed their coats and belongings at the front door and make their way through the house, finding her babies cross-legged on the floor in her study, a pile of records all around them. "Mom!"

"Uncle Nigel!" They scamper up with a speed that Miranda and Nigel both wordlessly envy. "You have the coolest record collection mom!"

"Do you know this was an original pressing?!"

"Yes Bobbseys… Not that I mind, but what's going on?"

"Well..."

"David's gone."

"As in Cassidy dumped him."

"And since you mentioned Uncle Nigel would be coming over..."

"We figured we'd invite Andy too…"

"Am I babysitting you lot again tonight?" Miranda comments, having already drifted away to the doorway of the kitchen.

.

From her vantage point she watches as Andrea stirs a pot before replacing the lid and turns to continue chopping up a salad while humming along to the music. She can't recall the last time this kitchen has seen singing. At least not since the girls have moved out. "You know, there are at least 28 Italian places in the neighborhood." Miranda begins, watching as the other woman whirls around, knife in hand. "I know because I had a second assistant count once. We could've had any one of them deliver."

"Miranda! Hi! You surprised me! I'll clean up, I promise!" Andrea begins to stammer. "We just wanted to do something here and they wanted to make dinner -"

"So why aren't they here with you?"

"They helped. They boiled water and..."

"And..." Miranda fights a smile as she makes her way to the stove. "They will do the dishes. They know I abhor a mess after dinner." She opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon and samples the sauce bubbling in the pot.

"You'll get sauce on you." Andrea warns as she returns to chopping the salad.

"I wouldn't hear of it." Miranda remarks placing the lid back on the pot.

"This is a really nice tradition you and the girls have. It's kind of sweet. How did it start? They said th-"

"I should change." Miranda interrupts, turning abruptly on her heel and breezes out the room. She didn't want to hear this stranger, this child really, intruding on her life, the nerve of her, reappearing at around every corner in the city and her house. "Nigel!" She calls out as she climbs the stairs with more force than necessary. "Make yourself useful and pick out some wine for dinner."

"Yes dear," Instantly, Nigel appears, as if he was in the doorway all along.

"Hey Nigel."

"Hmmmmm..." He smiles, eyebrow raised.

"What?" Andy asks, a confused look on her face.

"Hmmmmm indeed."

"What is going on with everyone today?" Andy asks again, shaking her head and turning to toss the salad and drain the pasta.

.

Dinner is a fun affair, though the ridiculous amount of wine may have something to do with it. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth bottle, the girls and Nigel have moved to the living room where he plies them with promises of bouffant hairdos and cat eyes to match the music, moving onto vinyl recordings of Bobby Darin and Della Reese. Miranda and Andrea, however, are lingering at the kitchen table, comfortable. "How long have you all been doing this?" Andy asks again, bold with the courage that comes with a third glass of red.

"Acting like lunatics?" Miranda drawls, an almost smile on her face.

"Having fun. If memory serves me correctly, fun was something that was decidedly undignified for the Priestly women."

"Are you saying we are being undignified Andrea?" Miranda feigns shock.

"Never Miranda!" Andy mocks in return. "I'm simply thinking how fortunate I am to be witness this historic moment in history. "

"Andrea, I do believe you're drunk."

"And you, Miranda, are not drunk enough." Andy pours another glass of wine in Miranda's glass before rising from her seat and begins to gather the dishes.

"The girls can do it."

"They're having fun," Andy shrugs, "Besides, apparently someone abhors a mess after dinner." She's so focused on rinsing the dishes and not dropping any as she places them in the dishwasher that she doesn't realize Miranda has come up behind her. She freezes as she feels the warmth of the other woman wrap her arms around her waist...wrap an apron around her waist. Andy feels the blood rush to her cheeks. "There." She hears the older woman murmur before stepping back, as she tied the apron strings behind her. "We wouldn't want your outfit to fall victim to my whims, would we?"

"It would be a worthy cause," Andy concedes softly before returning to the task at hand.

"Would it?"

"It would."

.

Miranda leans against the counter, wine glass in hand, watching the other woman before her. She's going to pay the price tomorrow for this indulgence. Too much pasta, too much wine, too much talking. "We started after Paris. That year. That you left. After Stephen left." Andrea looks at her, red cheeked and sorrowful eyes. "That wasn't a slight at you. It was an event marker is all. I don't even know why it registered." Miranda honestly doesn't. "I came home, and one night, the girls had made pasta, I didn't even know they could boil water, but apparently they could. They had Cara help them pick out a wine, and we had dinner. And I can still remember looking across the table at them, and realizing that my babies weren't babies, and they were going to leave me too. Everyone leaves eventually, don't they Andrea?" She looks at the other woman, not with tears in her blue eyes, but strength, a challenge to defy that fact.

"Some of us come back Miranda." Andy responds, her smile crooked but earnest, reaching her eyes.

"Hmmmmm." Miranda neither agrees or argues, simply puts her glass down and unties Andrea's apron before leaving the kitchen. "Come, we should join the others."

.

Andy takes the moment alone to take a deep breath and settle her nerves. Why nerves? It must be the wine. She won't drink anymore tonight she promises to herself as she shuts the dishwasher door and makes her way into the living room with the others. She stands beside Caroline, who's watching Nigel and Cassidy try to cha-cha, or do something that seemed much more complicated then it should be.

"You ok Andy? You're blushing." Caroline asks as she looks at her friend beside her

"Yeah, I um... it's the wine." Andy comments as she goes to busy herself with the stack of records beside them. "Hmmmmmmmmm." Caroline softly comments, eyebrow raised, lips pursed, as she watches her mother across the room, doing anything and everything but looking at them. Maybe Cassidy was on to something after all?


	6. 7291 Things More Fascinating Than Andrea

**Summary/Rating/Disclaimer** - found on first entry.

**AN** - if you've made it this far, thanks :)... Things'll start to pick up much quicker, I promise. As always, if you have any thoughts, comments, suggestions, encouragements etc, feel free to drop them in Reviews or DM me 3

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Five**

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Fartbutt: Wasn't it your idea in the first place?

Pukeface: Yeah, but I was probably drunk. And it was before I knew you wanted me to give up dinner there!

Fartbutt: I'll take you some other time.

Pukeface: ::neutral face emoji::

Fartbutt: Come on, for Mom? It's not like she has a lot of friends.

Pukeface: That's so mean.

Pukeface: Also a little true.

Fartbutt: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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><p>.<p>

She is surprised, certainly, when she spots Andrea peeking into the dining room of Eleven Madison Park. She's even more surprised when she's lead straight to her table by the Maître d' who seats her while another waiter swiftly removes the empty place setting. "We're still waiting for my daughters." Miranda declares, her eyebrows raised at the gaul of removing the tables. "Forgive me, Ms. Priestly, but they called and said the reservation was for two, not the original three requested." He nods, then wordlessly glides back to his post. "Well, this is unexpected." Miranda comments, eyeing Andrea across from her, her cheeks red with…some girlish emotion, or perhaps it was the wind? Was it windy out? She should - "I was going to go with awkward." Andy stammers, pulling Miranda out of tangent her mind was going down.

"Do you know what's going on? Are they alright?"

"They were fine - I was supposed to meet Caroline to go over some stuff when…she sent me ahead and said she'd meet me. You know?" Andy rose quickly, placing her napkin on the table. "I should leave, there's been a mix up or a -"

"Do sit down." Miranda dismissively indicates to the empty chair before her, "You're causing a scene."

"I'm not who you were expecting."

"Did you have other plans?"

"Well...no." Andy thought of the leftover takeout waiting in her fridge. It would be just as good tomorrow for breakfast.

"Sit." A quick wave of her hand, and as if by magic, a waiter appears to pull out Andy's chair, reset her napkin on her lap and present her with a menu. Miranda, meanwhile, glances at her phone. "It appears Caroline has been inspired by the muses to rewrite."

"I bet it's her evil boss." Andy deadpans, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

"One might call her a Dragon Lady."

"I wouldn't go that far." Andy feigns offense over the top of the menu.

"Do you know what she's working on?"

"If it's what I think is, then yes. It's a chance for her first bi-line if she can get it to me by tomorrow morning."

"Planning on replacing her name with yours, are you?"

"Not a bad idea now that you mention it." They share raised eyebrows and mouths struggling to hide their smirks.

"You are entirely too much like myself Andrea."

"Not the first time I've heard that."

.

They quickly order and rid themselves of the menus. They do not comment on Miranda's remark.

.

"I was just thinking -" Andrea begins, building a pause into the conversation. "Awww, come on, that's like the perfect opening for you to remark with something like, 'don't hurt yourself' or 'that' new'!"

"Well I do hate to be predictable, but if you insist, I ensure you I will find some way of insulting you at least once before the end of the night."

"Thank you, because I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you didn't. But I was thinking about how funny it is - we went, 5 or 6 years without seeing each other, and now, here we are, having dinner together. Again."

"I wouldn't say it was funny."

"Not ha-ha funny, but curious, don't you think?"

"I will say, it's unexpected but not necessarily unpleasant. One might even suspect a set up."

.

Their first course appears and the conversation shifts to work. Andy refuses to mention Caroline's potential article, refusing to undercut the other woman's accomplishment of being able to share it with her mother. "There's something so...rewarding in being able to share something like that with your parents for the first time. Don't you think? I still remember sending mine a photo of it at like, 4a, when it came off the press. I mean, it was buried in the back pages, but it was there. In black and white. Do you still get that... thrill? When you see the final copy? Of being able to share what's in your mind with the world?"

"No. Often, I look at it and I see the imperfections. I think 'If I had more time' or 'if we had gone with Marcus' photographer instead of Georg's'. I..see my mistakes."

"You're owning the faults, you take them on instead of share them. Isn't it collaborative?"

"Someone must own them Andrea. That is my my job. To bring the vision to reality and fruition. To create beauty where there was once nothing."

"Then what's the job of the staff?"

"To be the tools I use. While it's billed as a collaboration, ultimately... I am the creator and the critic and all faults were a result of my choices and selections. What?"

"Nothing...a lot of things." Andrea shakes softly as she smiles. "That just seems like an incredibly exhausting way to look at life. And then I remembered who I'm talking to, the Great Miranda Priestly, then I thought..." Miranda feels a warmth on her hand as Andrea places hers over it. She allows it to remain there until their main course arrives.

.

"Tell me Andrea," Miranda begins, tactfully navigating the conversation towards the other woman, feeling more vulnerable than she has in a very long time. "How is your novel coming along?"

"My novel?"

"You are a writer aren't you? Aren't you all working on the next great American novel, or book of Tibetan haikus?"

"Oh, outside of work."

"Please tell me you're not squandering your time on some sort of dreadful pap for the masses." Miranda's voice takes on the familiar edge. "Fifty Shades of Vampires or some such?"

"I wish, it would pay a lot more than what I'm currently working on..."

"Which is?"

"A work in progress." She deflects, suddenly engrossed in her meal.

"Goodness, don't tell me you're one of those writers who's overly precious about their work? Unwilling to share it until it's perfect."

"Not at all. I just..." She smiles a crooked smile and peers into her dinner companion's eyes. "It's a collection of short stories, but the key stone, the central story is... it's incomplete. And no matter what I write, I can't finish it."

"Why?"

"Why? I don't know. I'm trying to hard? I'm not trying hard enough? I don't know my story well enough, I know my story too well... It's just...there. Draft after draft after draft and it's..." She gives up trying to explain and shrugs her shoulders. "I shouldn't complain, I mean, you put out a work of art monthly."

"Some months are more worthy of that term than others," Miranda sniffs, her mind going back to all the faults of last month's issue. "Some unsolicited advice? Publish or perish. At some point, you have to accept the imperfections -"

"But not if I know it's not my best effort. The best I can do. That's one thing I miss about you. Coffee or content, you demanded everyone deliver the best they could at all times."

"I have a feeling Andrea, you are either too young or stubborn to understand what I'm imparting upon you. We will continue this discussion at a later time. That said, I would be curious to glance what you've generated so far."

"Really? Miranda, you're the busiest person outside of the President -"

"Hyperbole, he's not nearly as busy as I am. But I did mean it, otherwise I wouldn't have said it." She raises an elegantly arched eyebrow to indicate that it's over.

.

A quiet lull settles on the table, and Miranda takes a moment to take in her companion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a disheveled but elegant bun. A smudge of pink lipstick and a swath of mascara seem to be her only enhancements, but there is something so... captivating about her. It's not her youth, because that's blush has faded, but an earnestness, a quality of genuine curiosity and a seed of talent. A sense of compassion that hasn't been eroded away by New York, by Journalism, by Life and it's hardships. There is something so foreign, so forgotten yet so familiar about Andrea. It's startling, like the recognition of a landscape only seen in pictures…. She's pulled out of her thoughts by her name.

"Miranda?" Andrea repeats, "You're staring."

"Am I? I apologize." But she does not explain, because in part, she's Miranda Priestly, and in part because she doesn't know how. What would she say to this young woman before her, who seemingly overnight has appeared back into her life? She can't help but look at her companion as if she was the most fascinating thing on Earth, which she knows for a fact couldn't be true. She's traveled the world and at any other time could list 7291 other things more fascinating and captivating than Andrea Sachs, and yet, at this exact moment she couldn't think of a single thing and that terrified her.

.

She could feel her stomach drop.

.

She could feel the blood rushing away from her face and hands and she could feel everything fade out except for the realization that she was starting to feel attached to the young woman across the table from her who had paused talking and was looking at her... "Miranda? Are you alright?"

"Yes, you were saying?"

"I was asking if you were alright... You went really pale all of a sudden."

"Yes, I'm fine, tired I suppose. It was a long week."

"Right..." While the look on Andrea's face seems to question her, she doesn't press the issue, instead finishing her wine as Miranda signs the bill for dinner. They look at one another, it's obvious something has shifted in the air between them. She can feel the nervous energy that is emanating from Miranda. She has never seen Miranda nervous before, and while the other woman is doing a very good job of hiding it, she felt the change instantly.

.

"Well..." Andy says, breaking the silence between them, "Let's get you home." She cringes immediately, but it seems Miranda didn't notice. Instead, Miranda rises, a waiter helping her glide back in her chair. The efforts she commanded in others never ceased to amuse and make Andy smile. The smile softens as she feels the older woman's hand hover over the small of her back as though to guide her, nearly, but never actually touching her as they navigate out of the main dining room. It's as if she can feel the same nervous energy shaking the space between Miranda's hand and her back.

.

They drift out onto the sidewalk, the brisk night air chilling Andy back to attention as she see's Miranda's car make it's way down the block. It's now or never. "You said 'set up' inside, what did you mean by that?"

"Did I? I forget."

"You've never forgotten anything in your life Miranda." Andy comments, watching Miranda's driver (no longer Roy) get out to open the door.

"Perhaps the girls want us to get along, to be friends? Which is silly."

"Is it?" Andy asks, trying to hide the hurt from her voice.

"I'm old enough to be your mother."

"And the girls are young enough to be my daughters. What does that have to do with friendship?" For a moment, Andrea contemplates her next move then steels herself with a smile and a shake of her shoulders. "Thank you for a wonderful evening Miranda. And thank you for spending your evening with me." They say goodnight quickly and awkwardly on the street. Andy is so engrossed in her thoughts as she walks away that she doesn't feel Miranda's eyes watch her from her still standing car.

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><p>.<p>

Caroline arrives at Andy's apartment five minutes early the next morning, coffee for two and article in hand. They say nothing of last night, choosing to get down to work instead, Andy reading over Caroline's article and marking up the draft in red pen while the younger woman wanders and pace around the apartment before flopping down on the couch. Andy's so immersed in her edits, that she doesn't notice her phone vibrate with a text message. Caroline, all nervous energy can't say the same, her eyes drifting to the device face up on the table beside her. "Hey Andy?"

"Mmmmm?"

"How did last night go? You know, with my mother."

"Fine?" Andy flips to the last page, uncertain of how to answer.

"That's it?"

"Do you want me to finish this or...?" The pseudo threat hangs in the air.

"No no, carry on." The sound of pen on paper and street traffic drifting up is the only sound for the last few minutes until Andy puts down the pen and removes her glasses.

"Pretty good. I have some questions, all in the margins, but I think you can make some edits, clarify it, condense it and turn it in to Bill for review."

"Really?"

"Really. I mean, I can't promise, but it's really good and you should be proud! Your mom made a joke about me turning it in myself. Maybe she was on to something." Andy teases as she hands the papers back to Caroline.

"So it went well? Dinner?"

"Define well?" Andy gets up quickly and begins clearing the empty coffee cups and breakfast plates.

"Like, you both had a good time, right? Nobody died, or got stabbed with a salad fork?" Caroline asks, trailing behind. "You like her, right?"

"Yeah, I like her, she's way nicer as a friend than a boss." Andy jokes. "I don't think she'd say the same for me, but what can you do?" Andy shrugs, washing the dishes.

"Why do you say that? You said it went well."

"What was the deal with last night?" Andy changes the topic.

"I mean, mom is…mom. And she doesn't have a lot of friends and you don't have a lot of friends -"

"Hey!"

"And you seemed to like her and she doesn't seem to hate you so…"

"So you set up a playdate?" Andy teases, drying her hands on the dish towel. "Listen, I get it, it's super sweet. And I really like your mom. But don't you think she's old enough to decide who she wants to be friends with? I mean, she has a lot of options. A lot. She's really smart, and really funny, and really pretty and really -"

"Yeah, but everyone wants something from her and you're just…Andy with her. Seriously, have you heard yourself, you don't like, kiss her ass, which is a foreign and fascinating sight." Caroline teases. "Mom's smart, but she's also a little dim. I present her romantic history as exhibit A, B, and C. Just…if you like her as a friend, that would be cool, because she doesn't have a lot of those. Anyways," She changes the subject, the idea of her friend being he mom's friend too weird to dwell on too long. "Thanks for the help." Caroline makes her way to the door, leaving Andy to scramble behind. "Did you want to see another draft or -"

"No, submit it after the edits. I don't want to take too much of 'you' out of your article." They're at the door when Andy manages to ask, "But what did you mean about 'sorry'?"

"Nothing, just...Bye!" And with that, Caroline flounced out of the Andy's apartment, eager to go home and redraft her article.

.

Andy meanwhile was left alone. With all these thoughts about Miranda. And possibly being friends with Miranda, which would be cool. Except (and this is where things started getting scary for Andy) maybe in her adoration of how smart Miranda was, and how funny, and how beautiful and how many millions of things the lights started turning on one by one until she could see the facts… She could see she was starting to fall for Miranda Priestly. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. She needed to breathe. She needed to sit. She needed to stop everything and sit and breathe.

.

So she did. Andy sat herself down where she stood, on the floor of her hallway.

.

This was crazy. It was literally certifiable. Was she sure it wasn't just infatuation, or a crush, or idolatry? A side-effect of being overworked and under-sexed? It didn't matter, none of it mattered. Because no matter the cause, the effect was obvious, she liked Miranda. She liked _liked_ Miranda. The middle-aged, straight, stunning, more-power-in-her-hair-than-Andy-would-ever-possess Miranda Priestly. Mother to her friends, icon to the world Miranda Priestly.

.

She needed Doug.

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She searched frantically for her phone, she needed Doug now. She needed someone who could help breakdown each and every moment of... She had two missed messages.

M. Priestly: I apologize for how abruptly last night ended.

C. Priestly: 1) My mother doesn't say sorry; 2) You may want to turn off message preview on your phone ;)

.

Yup, she was going to need some serious help from Doug.


	7. You Hear What I Said, Miss Kubelik?

**Summary/Rating/Disclaimer** - found on first entry. There are two classic films mentioned in this, one is Billy Wilder's 'The Apartment' which is basically one the greatest films ever written/produced. The other is Sweet Charity. I assure you, I've written nor own the rights to either of those either :)

**AN** - Well, thanks for being patient... I hope this doesn't disappoint

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Six**

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Andy takes a deep breath and hangs up the phone. She sets it face down on her desk and takes a step away from it, as though it could blow up any moment. Which, given what she just did, it may.

.

She had spent the last 2 hours practicing exactly what and how she was going to ask Miranda on a 'non-date'. It had been carefully plotted by her and Doug (and a couple of bottles of Merlot). Now that Doug wasn't at her side and the Merlot was out of her system, it seemed like less of a good idea.

.

She hadn't seen Miranda since dinner at Eleven Madison last Friday. And while she had gone years without seeing the other woman, suddenly, even a week was a challenge. She had eventually responded to Miranda's text, and slowly they began textual correspondence, exchanging brief messages once or twice a day, often something inane and designed to hopefully make the other laugh (or at least smile). Andy's call deviated from their established pattern however. This was part of Doug's plan. Call her. Ask to see her. Make their meeting deliberate. All of their previous meetings were coincidental, or happenstance. Let this one be purposeful. Let Miranda decide to see her or not, before either of them read too much into their…friendship.

.

Her phone buzzed and Andy circled her desk briefly before turning it over and reading Miranda's message, a curt 'I believe I'm otherwise engaged'. Well, at least it wasn't a no, right? Miranda had no problem whatsoever with saying 'no'... and she hadn't. The woman who claimed to be busier than the President had listened to the voicemail and responded within moments. So... that was something, right? She quickly redialed Miranda's number, fully expecting it to go into voicemail after the first ring. She was caught off guard by "Miranda Priestly speaking."

"Oh, Hi. Is that how you answer your phone?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know this was a spot check on telephone etiquette. I'll answer with a more informal 'yo' next time."

"I dare you," Andy teased, smiling at hearing Miranda's voice. "I'm sure you're busy. I just wanted to let you know I'll...save you half my blanket... Just in case."

"That's..." The other woman's voice softened slightly, "A very charming offer. I will keep that in mind should my plans change."

"Please do. Keep it in mind. 8p tomorrow. Cedar Hill." And with that Andy hung up. Her phone buzzing with a text a quick moment later.

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M. Priestly: No goodbye? And you complain about my phone manners.

.

Miranda took a deep breath in her office crosstown as she sent her text. She was now exactly 3 minutes late to meet with the Art Department. Good. Let them cower. When she saw Andrea's name appear on her phone's screen a second time, she was unexpectedly compelled to pick up. She had spent the past week going back and forth on the Andrea matter. She knew it wasn't real. It could be a variety of things except for real. She was, for all intents and purposes, a straight woman past the middle of middle aged. She had two daughters, three marriages, and no desire to complicate her life with a 30 year old writer who could charm the birds off the trees like a real life Disney Princess. So why did her heart flutter just a little every time she saw the other woman's name on her phone screen? Why did she pick up the phone? And why was she tempted to cancel her dinner meeting tomorrow night to share a blanket in the park with Andrea Sachs?

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><p>.<p>

Andy took one last look around the crowds in hopes of spotting Miranda's signature coif. When she couldn't find it, she sighed and settled down on the blanket spread out on edge on the east side of the Park.

.

Summer in New York was one of her favorite times of the year. Yes, it was hot and sticky and smelled of garbage, but it was also a time where the city crowds thinned out. Tourists and the elite alike, unaccustomed or unwilling to endure the heat seemed to stick to their designated areas, leaving the natives to enjoy the bounty that was New York at night. Bars and restaurants spilled out onto the streets, people walked instead of cabbing or subway-ing it and the parks and museums were awash with events and exhibitions and movies. Everyone seemed to be so much more...alive on summer nights. Every Friday this year they were screening 'New York Classics' in the park, as soon as she read the description of tonight's film, she had a suspicion it was the perfect thing to invite Miranda to. It wasn't something as formal as dinner, which would force conversation (something she guessed Miranda was avoiding as much as she was, given how their last...meeting ended), and it wasn't too obvious. It was subtle, and dare she hope it, romantic (Did she even want it to be romantic?). At the very least, she herself would enjoy it, a throwback to childhood, of wide open lawns and nights under the stars with friends and family.

.

Among the invaluable advice Doug had given her was to 'go with it', whatever the 'it' turned out to be. It wasn't that Miranda was a woman that terrified her. It was that Miranda was...well, she was Miranda. She was the woman who made her life a living hell for a year. She was also the woman who gave her an incredible reference, made her smile, made her curious, made her excited. She blushed thinking of Miranda slipping the makeshift apron around her waist. Miranda challenged her, but didn't talk down to her. Miranda was amazing, incredible, beautiful, brilliant and ... calling her. "Hello?"

"How do I find you in this throng?"

"I would hardly call this a throng, Miranda." Andy replied, standing up and waving over to the other woman who stood on the edge of the concrete. Andy watched as Miranda placed her first hesitant step onto the lawn, then picked her way through blankets, careful not to impale anyone or anything on her heels. "Are you enjoying the view, Andrea?" Miranda asks into the phone, her voice lilting into a tease.

"I...will see you in a moment." Andy quickly hung up and dropped back to the blanket, quickly dusting off the other half, fixing her shirt, running a finger across her teeth in case lipstick smeared and took a deep breath. If she didn't know better, she'd say Miranda Priestly had flirted with her, hadn't she? "Hello."

"Ah, hi, Miranda." Andrea stammered, blushing as she offered her hand up to help the other woman down onto the blanket. "I'm...glad you came."

"Well, the thought of you, all alone... I couldn't leave you to your own devices." She playfully huffed as she removed her navy pumps and wiggled her toes in the air. They were surprisingly and delightfully painted clear. "Besides, it's been too long since I've seen this film. It's one of my favorites." She tucked her legs off to one side, and Andrea had to look up and around to avoid going red at seeing how high the navy skirt rose on the other woman's thighs. "Really? It's ah, one of mine too." Andy managed to stammer. Now that she was actually here, with Miranda, she had...no idea what to do or say. "If I, um, thought you were actually going to show up, I'd have brought some chairs or something." She apologized.

"Like those atrocious things?" Miranda nods towards some lawn chairs set up here and there across the hill. "I would've walked away if you had. There's something... I haven't sat on a blanket on the grass in a very long time." She doesn't exactly smile, but her voice softens as she looks around. The spot chosen by Andrea was at the crest of the hill, on the outskirts of the audience, shaded by a tree. "Tell me, did you set up here..."

"I...know you're not a fan of crowds. And it makes for an easy exit." Andy shrugged. "That said, you did show up, which means..." She pulls out a large bag of sour patch kids from her bag, along with two cold bottles of sparkling water. "You can help me with the snacks!"

"Andrea, your dietary habits are that of a four year old."

"Shhhhhhhh Miranda!" Andy teased, raising a finger to her lips as the credits start to roll. "The movie's about to begin!"

"Well then..." Miranda settles back against the tree, taking a sip of her water as she watches the black and white shots of New York. "On November 1st, 1959, the population of New York City was 8,042,783." Jack Lemmon narrates earnestly. "If you laid all these people end to end, figuring an average height of five feet six and a half inches, they would reach from Times Square to the outskirts of Karachi, Pakistan." Andy flips over to her stomach and wiggles to get comfortable, laying down beside the seated Miranda, her head on an outstretched arm. "Andrea, are you always this disruptive during films?"

"Just getting comfortable is all..." She looks back and sticks her tongue out.

"I was correct, like a four year old."

.

Someone ahead "Shhhhhhhhhhhhes" them.

.

"See, your disruptive nature is getting us into trouble." Miranda mutters, her eyes boring straight ahead to the screen. It has been a very long time since she was shhhhhhed. It has also been a very long time since she'd seen this movie. Or sat on the grass. It had also been a very long time since she questioned what it was that she was doing. Because what was she doing here, on a Friday night, with a woman half her age, surrounded by the plebeians of New York who didn't know the difference between Edith Head and Ethel Mertz.

.

But here she was, none-the-less, questioning her sanity. And, as she gazed down, watching the prone frame of the other woman, illuminated by the large screen in the dark night, her heterosexuality. What would it be like, she wondered, to take that outstretched hand in her own? Or...She moved her eyes back up to the screen, willing her mind to move on. Andrea was a lovely girl, but she was exactly that, a girl (comparatively). Beautiful and young and providing no signs of looking for anything other than ... friendship. She would have to correct that expectation after tonight though. To be friends with Miranda was to be asking to be disappointed, let down, pushed aside and occasionally ignored. In fact, being friends with Miranda Priestly was almost like being married to her. Except without the exchange of expensive jewelry.

"The mirror...it's broken." Jack points out to Shirley.

"Yes, I know. I like it that way. Makes me look the way I feel."

Suddenly, but not-so-suddenly, Miranda feels the same way. Broken. But only just a little bit. She feels emptier than when she came to the park. She feels emptier than when she saw Andrea stand and wave at her and smile so widely Miranda was certain the fool girl's cheeks would hurt the next day. At that moment, she had felt...full. As if Andrea's joy and surprise at seeing her spilled out and over. When was the last time someone had looked at her like that. With such adoration? Such genuine feeling? She peeks down and is surprised to see her hand tangled in the other woman's dark locks. She watches as she runs her hands through lightly and wonders how long she had done that. How had that even began and why was Andrea allowing it? Embarrassed, Miranda stills her hand and pulls it slowly onto her lap. She hopes no one noticed. She hopes Andrea didn't notice. She looks away, feeling foolish, willing away the redness she's certain is spreading across her cheeks. What had gotten into her? A disgruntled murmur pulls her from her thoughts. Andrea has flung her hand back and is wordlessly indicating for Miranda to continue. "S'nice." She murmurs, not bothering to look back at the older woman. "Andrea, your elbow's in my way." She whispers, haughty.

"Then go back to playing with my hair. It was nice."

"Is that the only way I'm to have peace?" Miranda huffs, her hand already out, hovering near the other woman's hair. She takes a deep breath and plunges it into the dark locks. It's cool and silky beneath her fingertips. She decides to ignore the warmth spreading through her belly, the redness spreading across her cheeks and her décolletage. She cannot ignore the sigh of satisfaction that arises from the other woman.

.

She spends more time watching and contemplating the younger woman instead of the film she had seen countless times. What about the younger woman intrigues her? By all means, she should find her... not contemptible, no, but certainly not worth a Friday night, let alone the other times she's spent with her. She shouldn't find her company so desirable, but she does. There's something infectious about Andrea. The naivety from all those years ago is gone, but there's a certain, dare she say, sweetness to her? An honest interest about others as people instead of tools to be used to create something. Instead Andrea finds people endlessly fascinating, with a gaze that's...focused on her directly as she is right now. Andrea has turned around, lying flat on her back, looking up directly at Miranda, a smile spread across her face. "The film is that way Andrea." She indicates towards the screen, wrenching her eyes away from the other woman's face and towards Shirley McClain leaving the party in search of Jack Lemmon. "I know, but this is a much better view."

"I won't miss the end of the film Ms. Sachs."

"I wouldn't hear of it, Ms. Priestly"

.

She doesn't need to look down to know Andrea is still looking at her. She can feel the the other woman's...happiness...all but radiating off of her. Happy over what though? Her thoughts are interrupted as Jack Lemmon confesses "I love you, Miss Kubelik. Did you hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you." And she can't help but smile a grin as big as Shirley McClaine's as she tells him to "Shut up and deal." The credit music swells and there's a smattering of clapping as everyone slowly emerges from the fog of watching the film, of holding their breath in hopes of Shirley McClaine's Ms. Kubelik realizes what we've known all along, that Jack Lemmon's Bud Baxter was in love with her this whole time.

'You're smiling." Andrea accuses her as she finally sits up.

"I am not. You're simply seeing things." Miranda replies, trying to school her features back into submission.

"You, Miranda, are smiling. It's ok." She whispers as she stands up and offers the other woman a hand to ease her up. "I won't tell anyone." Miranda slip her hand into Andrea and as she gently tugs up, wonders how true that is.

.

Miranda watches her pack everything back up into her tote bag and while she know a cab would be quicker, she turns towards the pavement path. "It's such a beautiful evening Andrea, I think I'll walk." She don't ask Andrea to walk with her. She hope she will though. She isn't ready for this night to be over, because as soon as it is, Miranda will have to ask herself some questions. So together they walk slowly and leisurely in the park, like so many couples they see arm in arm around them. What would it be like? To be young again? To be in love again? To be arm in arm with the woman by your side? Young people today didn't question things like this now, and while she didn't want to consider the fact that she's old, she knows she is of a certain generation, one who's - "Miranda?"

"Yes?" She snap back to the present.

"Did I ever tell you about what I wanted to be when I was growing up?"

"I always assumed it was some intrepid explorer or lion tamer?"

"Not quite." She laughs and nudges the other woman with her shoulder... and suddenly her arm is much closer to Miranda's than before. "I had just seen the movie Sweet Charity. I knew every word to that movie, including all the songs. I just wanted to be Shirley McClain in that." She doesn't move her arm away.

"A prostitute?"

"I believe she was a dancer."

"Oh, was that what they called it back then?" Miranda smirks

"That's better." Andy takes a peek to the woman at her left then back to the sidewalk, "You were looking serious again."

"What do you mean again?" Miranda asks, her head cocking to one side.

"Back there... You were thinking of something too serious for a night this nice. You were, watching but you weren't seeing, if that makes sense?"

"I used to watch this move every year at Christmas." She lingers.

"Was that what you were thinking about?"

"Every time the girls went to visit their father…It appears we've arrived."

"Where?" Andy looks around confused, then realization dawns on her. "Oh. Your home."

"My home. Thank you for walking me." Miranda makes no motion to climb the stairs, nor does Andrea make to leave. "You really didn't have to."

"You're welcome. I..." She sighs and smiles, as if steeling herself. "I just wasn't ready for this night to be over."

"No?"

"No." Andrea confesses. "Miranda..."

"Andrea." She teases, echoing back the seriousness of the other woman's tone. It had been a while since anyone was nervous around her. At least in this capacity. Everyone was terrified of Miranda Priestly in a professional sense, but in the personal sense? It was endearing. And while she should stop it, both her unexplainable feelings for the other woman and the other woman's suffering, she wasn't particularly ready for tonight to be over either. She reaches out a hand towards Andrea's face and notices her stop breathing as she carefully plucks a piece of grass from her hair and drops it on the sidewalk.

"I was saving that for later." Andrea whispers.

"I do not doubt it." Miranda smirks. They stand there for a moment, surrounded by the city and it's noise and it's indifference to these two women beneath a tree. Each of them breathing softly, looking in each other's eyes, almost daring the other to make the first move. "It's a nice face." Andy whispers.

"Hmmmm?"

"As faces go. It's a very nice face." Andy continues, not quite singing, not quite speaking, as she smiles shyly at the other woman. "With a place for every feature, every feature in its place".

"Oh, I see." Miranda smiles back softly. She tells herself she can afford a moment of selfish and childish indulgence. Of basking in the other woman's attention. It's just a moment after all. She doesn't know what it is about this…seemingly plain woman (who is anything but) that makes her wonder what it would be like to stay like this forever. But nothing stays forever. Not a thing or a person. In the end, she's a silly old woman with a silly little girl. "What are we doing Andrea?"

"I…I don't know Miranda." Andy smiles, "I just know…"

"What do you know?"

"That I'd very much like to kiss you."

.

The moment passes.

.

The words pull Miranda from her hazy state that the warm evening has put her in. She takes an abrupt step back and quickly climbs the stairs to her townhouse, where she pauses at the top and dismisses her with a curt, "Thank you Andrea. Please get home safely."

.

It takes a few seconds for Andy to process what's going on in her mind. To wonder how she went from standing inches away from Miranda's warmth to being…dismissed… without so much as a look. Even at her cruelest, Miranda would look at you to ensure her barbs landed. Andy climbs the stairs determined, she isn't sure what she's determined to do, but she knows this feeling, it's familiar, sinking to the feeling when she left Paris. She'd been lucky enough to meet Miranda once more, on more even footing and she isn't about to lose this, whatever this this may be. The door opens before she can knock, and there's Miranda, a look of exasperation on her face. "Collecting for the Evening Star are we?"

"Miranda…" Andy blurts out, "Miranda, may I kiss you?"

"..." There are no words. It's been a very long time since anyone's asked to kiss her (has anyone asked to kiss her?). Miranda feels Andrea place a gentle hold on her hip and lean forward and brushes her lips across the other woman's. It's her first time kissing another woman. She's not entirely appalled. She's not even surprised, not really. It was, in fact, quite restful? No, not restful… her mind races to find the right word and as such doesn't see the second kiss coming, but she can feel it. It's as if every nerve in her body begins to vibrate as one. Andrea has pressed their lips together and suddenly she can only thing about how she's being kissed like she hasn't been kissed in years. She can only think about the thrill of Andrea, of this beautiful creature, unafraid of anything, of storming up these stairs and politely and passionately kissing her. How is one even politely passionate? She pulls the other woman inside and closes the door, suddenly trapped between the wall and the warmth of the young woman's body. As she feels Andrea's hands pull her closer, as she hears Andrea moan softly into her skin, she thinks to herself that this needs to stop. She tries to get the words out, but can't. Especially as Andrea's mouth moves down her jaw and along her neck. All she can do is arch her back and allow the other woman more access to her, to anything and everything she wants at this moment.

.

'This is how I wants to die,' Andrea thinks to herself, the thoughts half-formed in the haze caused by the other woman's presence, 'I want to die pressed against Miranda Priestly'. She doesn't know what she's doing, not exactly, but so far, there have been no complaints. Finally, the need to come up for air arises and their lips and their bodies separate. "Oh Andrea," Miranda sighs, as she unwraps her arms from the other woman and steps away from the wall and into the darkness of the hall "This does complicate matters, doesn't it?"

"I…seem to be really good at complicating things." She leans against wall Miranda had just been pressed against and looks off into the darkness of the hall. "I mean, you're Miranda Priestly. Oh god, what did I do? I ruined it didn't I?"

"Ruined what?"

"I don't know. It. Whatever this was. I ruined it and I'm sorry."

"There is no it, Andrea. It's an infatuation Andrea." Away from Andrea, away from those arms and whatever drugstore brand shampoo used she can think straight. She can think about how ridiculous, utterly ridiculous they've both been. This needs to stop. They need to never think about this…lapse in judgement and in taste. Miranda straightens her blouse and skirt, even though she's in the dark, even though it's well past time to go to bed.

"For you, or for me, because Miranda, it's so much more to me. You're so much more to me."

"Don't inflate this into something more than it is Andrea. You're infatuated with me and I allowed myself to be infatuated with you."

"No Miranda."

"Yes, Andrea. It's happened before, people get infatuated. I will admit," Her voice changes slightly, " This is the first time I allowed it to go this far. You are a charming and talented young woman. Winsome, dare I say. I apologize for letting it proceed to this point. And while it wasn't unpleasant in the least, it will never happen again."

.

"Please, don't say that." Andy asks, directing the plea to the darkened hall. She can make out Miranda's white hair, her blouse, but she can't see much more than that. She can't see Miranda's face. Her eyes. She can't see if she really means what she said, but within moments, she finds herself on the doorstep, alone.


	8. Sunday we Brunch

**Summary/Rating/Disclaimer** - found on first entry.

**AN** - 3 3 3 to everyone who's left a comment, or a DM, or even stuck around.

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><p>.<p>

**Chapter Seven**

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Andrea suspects Miranda is avoiding her.

.

Which is curious, because their lives don't allow for much incidental crossover, so avoiding someone you'd likely never see is a moot activity. Never the less, Andrea has the sneaking suspicion she's being avoided when her texts start to go unanswered and suddenly Caroline avoids mentioning her mother.

.

Nor does it help that suddenly Page Six and every blog is posting paparazzi shots of Miranda, with some fabulously handsome and wealthy (and likely straight) man on her arm.

.

It's while she's lamenting these very photos one Friday night, pretending she's not stewing over them when there's a knock at the door. She holds her breath as she peeks into the keyhole, having seen more than her fair share of awful romantic comedies, she can't help but hope that the knock is Miranda, come to apologize, to explain. "Open up Andycakes, I can see your shadow!"

"Go away Doug. I'm naked." She shouts through the door, not up for company, not even that of her best friend.

"I have your emergency keys and a bag of thai food."

"You can't use my keys! I gave them to you in case of an emergency!"

"This qualifies." He sighs and jingles the keys. "I also have wine."

"You should've led with that." She remarks as she opens the door and helps Doug with his bags. "Not that I'm not grateful, but to what do I owe this ambush to? Don't you have a date with the mystery man?"

"He's at work. And he's not a mystery. I just don't…want to jinx it." He explains as he starts to open their wine.

"Plates or?" Andy asks, holding up the bag of food.

"Definitely or. Who are we kidding?"

"Good call." They make their way into the living room and take their usual seats.

"Well, at least I didn't find you blasting Melissa Etheridge or something. Now, tell Papa Bear everything."

"Stereotypes-"

"Exist for a reason. Don't change the topic. And don't eat the last spring roll - I love you but not that much." He snags the last piece from the carton. "Now, the last I heard, you and La Grande Dame herself found yourselves in the dark, cheek to cheek, and then… nothing. It's as if my best friend fell off the face of the earth." He takes a chopstick full of noodles into his mouth before continuing. "If that was because you fell face first into one another's lady bits-"

"Doug!" She groans, blushing red.

"I don't judge, Dear. I may not understand it, but I don't judge it. Now, if your absence was because you had found sapphic bliss, that'd have been one thing. But imagine my surprise when I see these photos with Miranda and all these men. One after another. Like an endless parade of them. Suddenly it all makes sense why you've fallen off the face of New York."

"I have not." Andy pouts, pushing away her curry and rice. "I've just…"

"Yes…"

"Miss her."

"Oh Andycakes." He puts down his noodles and opens his arms and finds Andy in them within seconds. "Oh Andy I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

"Like hell." She mutters into his body.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Ok."

.

He holds Andy for a while until his arm goes numb and his stomach growls.

.

"I should let you go."

"No, you should just…" He reaches to his noodles and manages to grab them and proceeds to balance them on Andy's shoulder as he holds her and begins to eat again. "There we go."

"It was just…really…nice." She mumbles into his chest.

"Nice?"

"Being happy."

"Oh Andy, you're breaking my heart." He sighs, meaning it.

"I mean, we would talk about everything, and she just… made me feel so special, by being nothing more than herself. And we would…just look at each other. And I swear…" She finally pulls away from Doug, looking into his eyes. "There was something there. That night, that kiss, there was something to it. That entire night Doug, she kept looking at me…"

"Like?"

"Like I mattered."

"You do matter Andy."

"You know what I mean. Don't you? She kept looking at me like she was trying to figure me out. And then that kiss. It was like…every cliche Doug, about magic and magnetism and lightning. I'm supposed to be a writer, and I have no words other than…"

"Damn."

"Yeah." Andy laughs dryly, running her hands through her hair.

"Andybear, may I be honest with you?"

"When are you not?"

"I know, I just like to ask to try to give the illusion of manners. Andy, I'm not saying there's nothing between you and her, and I'm not saying there's not nothing. I'm just…" He sighed, "You are a beautiful woman Andrea, and smart, and talented. Anyone, man or woman, would be damned lucky to even have a chance with you. It could be George Clooney or it could be Miranda Priestly. You…did a hell of a thing, even asking her out. I'm sorry if this sounds cheesy, you followed your heart and you followed your gut and that's what makes you you Andycakes. What she chooses to do now is her business. We can't make people love us Andy, you taught me that. And you can't put your social life on hold waiting for her to figure it out. So, tonight we wallow. Tomorrow we cleanse, and Sunday we brunch and Monday we go back to work, deal?"

"Deal, Dougie."

"Good, now, no night of wallowing is complete without bad tv…" And with that, he turns on the television. They spend the night watching awful television on some awful channel, laughing at how awful it is and how good the wine is.

.

Good to his word, Andy wakes up the following morning to the delivery of a juice cleanse at her door. She can't help but laugh as she cleans up the debris from last night with Doug, and then continues cleaning, first the living room, then the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, all of which have been left abandoned since…the park. Invigorated and on a roll, Andy even gathers her laundry and her notebook, lugging them both to laundromat around the corner. And there, while her whites and her colours and her darks begin their cycles, she sits down and begins to write.

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><p>.<p>

'Well, at least this evening won't be as insufferable as the last, but that's not saying much.' Miranda thinks to herself from across the dinner table, stretching her face into a tight and awkward smile. She could plead out with a headache, but the paparazzi won't be at her doorstep until 11 tonight (thanks to the anonymous tip she had provided them with earlier in the day), which meant she had to play nice for at least a whole two more hours.

Two hours with this bore. Beautiful, to be certain, but as dull as this ridiculous 'normcore' trend one of her writers had tried to pitch. Where did Nigel find these men? And since when did she find good manners and good looks boring? Since Andrea, she answered herself, aware of the borderline lunacy of having an internal conversation with herself over a decision she herself had made and judged as the right and correct path of action. It had to be. It was the only option really. Who was she fooling, it was bad enough when men chased 20-something women, but for her to do it? She may be Miranda Priestly, the woman who could (and had done) anything and everything she wanted, but she certainly didn't want to make a fool out of herself, and that's what she'd be doing if they continued down that path. With that reminder, Miranda steeled herself and began to at least try to find her dinner companion engaging.

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><p>.<p>

"Hello?" Andy asks, blindly grabbing at her phone, unwilling to open her eyes. She doesn't need to open her eyes to know it's absurdly early. Or absurdly late.

"It's quite good, your story."

"What time is it? Miranda? " Andy debates opening her eyes, but she's really quite comfortable like this, warm in bed, talking to Miranda.

"Have you removed me from your phone already Andrea?"  
>"Not yet."<p>

"Tell me about your story."

"There's not much to tell."

"You're being coy Andrea. Editors hate that. Three weeks ago you were hopelessly stagnant, and now this…rough, but captivating draft appears before me."

"I was…never hopelessly stagnant." Andrea defends herself as Miranda dismisses the comment with a small noise that melts Andy's heart.

.

There's a brief silence.

.

"How are you?"

"A social call, Miranda? At this hour?"

"Yes well, I'm an incredibly busy woman."

"So I've seen. Quite popular too."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you Andrea."

"And what does suit me Miranda?" Andy asks, finally opening her eyes and pushing herself up into a seated position. She watches the shadows cast by the streetlights along her wall.

"Confidence." Miranda responds softly, "You have everything to be confidant about."

"Like what?"

"I'm not in the habit of doling out complements needlessly Andrea, you should do well to remember that if we're to begin a romantic relationship."

"…"

"If that is agreeable to you. I realize we never spoke about it. I had just assumed that -"

"Romantic relationship?"

"Perhaps I misinterpreted the kiss?" Miranda asks, her voice dropping to an icy temperature as she moves to end the call and the humiliation. "I apologize. Good night Andr-"

"No! You can't call me up in the middle of the night, complement me on something vague, suggest we start…dating, and then hang up on me! What is going on Miranda?"

"You seemed to sum it up quite nicely."

"It doesn't mean I understand it. One minute, I am kissing and being kissed by one of the most brilliant, beautiful and beguiling women in the world, the next I'm being kicked out and ignored while she flaunts that she's out every night with another hot guy -"

"I wasn't flaunting-"

"I've made your schedule Miranda, unless things have changed drastically, you do not go out every night with the paparazzi hounding you unless you deem it so."

"I will not defend my actions."

"I'm not asking you to. I am asking you to explain them to me."

"Andrea."

"Miranda."

"I…have been more social as of late. Ever since-"

"That night-"

"That kiss." Miranda corrects, "I could, ignore whatever I felt for you until that kiss Andrea."

"And what did you feel for me?"

"Attraction. Protection. Curiosity. Envy. It occurs to me that you're asking all the questions. You know how I feel about that."

"You could ask some too if you want, instead of making these sweeping declarations."

"I refuse to do this over the phone Andrea. I am not some silly schoolgirl talking to her crush."

"Then come over and talk about it in person." Andrea sighs. Within seconds there's a click of a disconnected line. "Miranda? Hello?"

.

Andy isn't sure how much time has passed, she just knows one minute she's asleep and dreaming of Miranda calling and the next there's a loud rapping at the door.

.

"Andrea, open up. Open up at this minute Andrea, so help me."

.

Andy flings back the covers and runs to the door, opening it and then blinking in the bright hall lights. "Miranda?"

"Well aren't you going to invite me in?" The other woman asks as she moves past Andy and makes her way to the darkened living room.

"What are you doing here?" Andy asks, flipping the light switch on. She watches as Miranda turns around, looking lost and standing out amongst her belongings.

"You had questions, and I refuse to talk about about it over the phone. So here I am." Miranda makes her way to Andrea and turns the lights back off. They stand near one another in the darkened room, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. "Andrea, do you sleep with your make up on?"

"Ah…"

"It's a bad habit."

"I'll remember that. Would you like a seat?" Andrea offers, shrugs, tugging on the long sleeves of her top.

"No, thank you."

"So…what brings you by?" Andy asks softly, taking a step closer to Miranda, just close enough to feel the warmth off the other woman's body. Her pajamas are thin and she's starting to feel the chill.

"I…wanted to see you."

"And now that you have?"

"I want to keep seeing you. Does that make sense to you? Because Andrea," Miranda moves a hand towards Andrea and tucks a stray lock of disheveled hair behind the other woman's ear, letting her hand linger against her cheek. "It doesn't to me. There I was, across the table from a man who is, by all accounts, handsome, intelligent, wealthy and possibly charming and all I could could do was…want see you. And when that man leaned over to kiss me -" She watches the other woman wince at these words. "I felt nothing more than the desire to see you. Andrea, I missed you. What have you done to me?" She sighs. "Well, you had so many questions earlier, where are they now?"

"You don't like it when I ask too many questions."

"No, I don't. But you have a habit of doing exactly what I don't like, so ask away."

"I…missed you too." Andy begins, careful not to get her hopes up, but optimistic.

"Did you Dear?"

"Dear?" Andy smiles up, sliding a hand into one of Miranda's.

"Dear." Miranda confirms, unable to smile, looking down at their linked hands.

"I don't know why or how you've come back into my life, but I…Apparently confessing your emotions to one of the world's most powerful women isn't as easy as I hoped. Ok." She takes a breath and tries again. "I missed you too Miranda. And all I've wanted to do was see you. And if that means it's as friends, that's fine, but if I'm honest, I want it to be so much more."

"Since when?"

"Since…always? Since the park? I don't know. Somewhere along the way I realized how incredible you are and how incredible you make me feel and how silly it is that I would miss you. Caroline -" She notices the other woman stiffen before her. "Asked me if I liked you, and that's when I realized how obvious it was to others, and if they could see it, why couldn't I? Why couldn't you? And then there was that night in the park and I didn't expect you to show up and you did and you were so -" She's rambling, she knows she is, but Miranda hasn't let go of her hand yet, hasn't left yet.

"Andrea," The other woman interrupts, "What do see when you see me?"

"How beautiful you are."

"Just that?"

"I wish I had something more profound, or poetic, but it's late and I'm tired and I don't quiet know what to say other than that. You're - a color field, Miranda. Beautiful and difficult and restful and exciting and so many things. I look at you and I see how beautiful you are inside and out and how intelligent you are. You have a delicious sense of humor and …I don't know. I just - don't you feel something, there's always been something between us, hasn't there?" She squeezes Miranda's hand clasped in hers.

"I am an older woman, some may say an old woman. I don't know anything about being with a woman -" She's' not sure why she came here, she should leave, she tries to let go of Andrea's hand, because no matter how good it feels to have someone's hand, Andrea's hand in hers, she knows it will hurt when it ends. It has to end.

"Then don't be with a woman. Be with me, Miranda." Andy reaches out her free hand, tentatively, towards Miranda's face and guides the other woman to look at her, focus on her. "Be with me. You can have anyone you want and do anything you want."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"More than anything. Who do you want? What do you want?"

.

Miranda peers at her across the dark. Here was this earnest, beautiful creature - what could she possibly offer Andrea? Others would be looking to her for prestige, for information, for any number of things - but Andrea had had the opportunity and had asked or demanded nothing. She had simply offered. Was still offering. It would be selfish to take it, when there were so many other, more suitable partners for both of them.

.

Well, damn it. And damn them too, those suitable partners.

.

Miranda was nothing if not selfish and opportunistic, ready to pounce on any possibility presented in life. And so what if there were better partners for Andrea, for her, they weren't here now. They didn't look at her like Andrea looked at her and they didn't speak to her like Andrea spoke to her. And as for Andrea, she would try to deserve this woman, whatever that meant, whatever it took.

.

She opens her arms and Andrea steps forward, and she can feel her body react to the other woman's. Their curves and hollows seem to fit. Her mind races as it focuses on this thought to block out all the other questions and doubts. They just seemed to fit.

.

"I suppose there has always been something between us, hasn't there?"


	9. Advice for Another Day

"Nigel, I need your opinion."

"Well, will wonders never cease?" He teases before taking a sip of his wine.

.

He is seated across from his mentor, and to be honest, his frend, at their monthly coffee meeting. They had started doing this since he left to launch Persona Magazine, with both Miranda's blessing and backing. While he found himself asking more questions than he ever thought possible, it was not often, that she turned to him.

.

"Play nice. I have stumbled upon a writer. Guileless, and completely unaware. I suspect they're talented."

"You've never waffled before."

"This is different."

"It must be. Where did you find them?"

"Ah, that's a story for after your opinion. I'd like you to read a draft they've shared with me."

"Send it over. I'll take a look."

"I would appreciate it. How is your junior working out?"

"Marie is…challenging to work with, but she's almost as good as I was, so I am learning to work with it and her and don't think I don't see you smirking behind your cup."

"I wouldn't dare. That said, she is quite good. The good ones usually are a challenge. Remember, you weren't all roses and sunshine."

"Lies and blasphemy." He remarks. "Now, I have a very serious matter to discuss with you. You had all but taken up residence on Page Six, and then you vanish like a specter in the night and appear before me glowing."

"I did not vanish and I am not glowing Nigel. You're dramatizing."

"I have never dramatized a day in my life. Now if you won't tell me, that's one thing, but will you at least let me say that it suits you?"

"You may. Now, what about you? I have heard murmurs…" Miranda's phone begins to ring.

"Of which every one of them true." Nigel's phone begins to ring as well.

.

They look at each other and realize this cannot be good.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Make it quick Six - I have a deadline."

"Persona's offices, are you guys still in the Elias Clark's building?"

"Yes. Why? Hang on -" Nigel's hand covers the mouthpiece of the phone, "I need everything on file for him and I need them in the next five minutes." He removes his hand. "What's up?"

"I ah… Can't tell you. Not yet. But any chance you can wrangle me a guest pass at 8p?"

"No." He covers the mouthpiece once more "Audrey - you're down to two minutes because you're flirting!" He returns to his phone. "You just can't get good help these days, Six. I can't get you a guest pass - we have to have everything ready to print in the morning. Meet Estelle in the lobby at eight and she'll sign you in. You aren't going to make me regret this, are you?"

"Is that why you're having your assistant sign me in, Nigel?" Andy teases, thankful for the help.

"Self preservation is the reason I've made it this far, Six. We'll brunch soon?" And with that, Nigel hangs up the phone without waiting for a response.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

There's a strange sense of a dream, at least that's what it feels like to Andy, stepping off the elevators to the entry of Runway. It's the same, but not. The carpet, the furniture, the painting have all changed, but they all look the same as her tenure there.

.

It's an unusual hive of activity for 8p, gliding about, quickly, because it wouldn't do to run, even with this tight deadline. Everyone's so focused on their task at hand that no one notices one more woman walking down the hall. She makes her way and finds herself in front of Miranda's office, thankful that both assistants are away on some task or another. She takes a moment to look, really look at Miranda at her desk, an opportunity she didn't often have as her second assistant. Her head is down, a red pen in her hand, with all of New York's lights spread out behind her. Everything is so still, every colour so vibrant, it's like a Hopper painting come to life. Andy can't help how her heart stops for a beat, for altogether different reasons now. "Are you going to stand there all night Andrea?" Miranda asks, her head still down.

"Is that an option?" Andy asks, teasing. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Mmmmm." Is the only response she gets, losing Miranda back to the papers on her desk. She steps into the office and places the box she's holding to on the low coffee table by the couch.

"Andrea?" Miranda raises her head and removes her glasses and holds out her arm. "Hello."

"Hello." Andy bends over and places a hesitant kiss on the other woman's cheek, relishing in it's warmth. "I didn't want to bother you, but I figured you'd be focused on your work, so…"

"I apologize for canceling dinner." She holds out her hand to Andrea, who gently takes it. "Our first…"

"It's ok - a story like this. You were friends, weren't you?"

"As close as someone in our roles can be, yes. I still remember his first show while I was an assistant at Vogue."

"Tell me about it?"

"I…It was in London, Fall collection, 1982? 1983? Layers, so many layers. Everyone looking like a street urchin, but…the fabrics, the skill in construction was incredible. Every stitch was…" Miranda sighs, gesturing at the pages spread across her desk. "Anyways. We have until dawn to get get this retrospective done in time for the printing."

"And you've been going at it since the news broke-"

"Before the news broke." Miranda corrects.

"And you haven't eaten since?" Andrea steps away and begins to set up a proper plate and cutlery before plating some salmon and greens from the box she's brought in.

"Andrea, you shouldn't have." Her mouth forms into something close to a smile.

"Well, I did. Sometimes you're entirely too predictable." She shrugs.

"Miranda, the proofs for Paul's story -" A slim man appears at the door but doesn't step in, curious about what he may intrude upon.

"Your engraved invitation to enter must be lost, but still, do come in." Miranda snaps, as she rises and moves towards the coffee table. She snatches it from his hand and all but smiles as he scurries away.

"Do you - did you always smile behind our backs when you scared us?!" Andy whispers, shocked and amused.

"One really has to learn to take pleasure in the simple things in life." Miranda responds, settling down on the couch, half-glancing at the papers in her hand. "Aren't you joining me?"

"I…already ate. I don't want to distract you-"

"My my, we think highly of ourselves, don't we?"

"Don't I have reason to?" Andy smiles. "I should go."

"Stay." Miranda says, "I mean, unless you have something else to do."

"Not exactly, after we rescheduled dinner, I planned on trying to make headway on this article that doesn't want to work."

"Stay then. Work here." She offers, looking up at Andrea, then quickly down at her plate, feigning disinterest.

"Miranda? I didn't come here for that. I don't want to be in your way."

"I'd tell you if you were. You are more than welcome to stay here and work, but I don't want to force you."

"What would you tell people?"

"My staff don't question me Andrea. Something you'd do well to remember." Miranda smirks as she takes a bite. "This really was quite thoughtful."

"Like I said," Andrea begins, settling down on the couch and pulling out her laptop. "I know you and you probably haven't eaten since you heard the news."

"I don't say this often, but you're right." Miranda murmurs, already reabsorbed into the proofs she's spread out on the coffee table.

"Yes, well get used to saying it more often to me." Andrea teases.

"We'll see."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

They work together, but apart throughout the night, with Andy camped out, cross-legged on the couch and Miranda back at her desk. No one questions Andrea's presence there, at least not verbally.

.

It's around one in the morning when Miranda gives up and kicks off her heels, flexing her ankles at her desk. They're waiting for the Book, complete with mock ups of the new pages dedicated to the death of one of her oldest…she wouldn't quite call Yves Gogan a friend, not at least the way most people define friendship. But they started together, and in a naive way, she believed they would end their careers together. While he wasn't always at the height of creativity, losing his way in the late 1990s, he had spent the last four years creating some of the most innovative, clear, and beautiful collections of either of their careers. Along the way, they had lost so many friends, so many lovers, so many - people, to the ravages of disease - she picks up a pen and begins scrawling these thoughts, the beginnings of her updated Editor's letter - to drugs, to suicide, to alcohol, to accidents. This ugliness is why they work so hard to create these moment and objects of beauty. It may seem silly, trivial to some but this is what this life came down to, creating something out of nothing, giving value and meaning to a world determined to tear it away from them.

.

"I can hear you smiling from here, Andrea." She murmurs, her head still down.

"I told you I can be distracting…" Andy teases.

"Mmmm. And what amuses you so much?"

"Miranda," One of the assistants appears at the door. "Did you have a chance to finish the editor's letter?"

"Not quite. It will have to be improvised - I'll speak they'll type." She rises and stretches, watching Andrea's smile grow on her face. "We'll finish this later." She remarks pointedly, before walking out of the office with her assistant.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

There is something magical about New York at that exact moment where late late night becomes the early, early morning. A cool, stillness in the air, even in the summer months.

.

Andy yawns as she shivers and wraps her arms around herself. Miranda's car approaches and her driver, no longer Roy, but someone else opens the door and waits (Andy reminds herself to ask about Roy later, when she's not so tired). "Are you sure I can't drop you off?"

"I'm sure. It's the opposite direction." Andy tips her hand out and flags a cab. "Thank you for tonight."

"I suppose I should be the one thanking you. It was quite thoughtful of you." Miranda peers at the other woman. Should they kiss, should they hug? What was proper protocol for a situation such as this?

"Stop stressing Miranda." Andrea smiles, leaning over and placing a quick peck on Miranda's cheek before heading to her waiting cab. "Good night!"

.

"Where to?" The cabbie asks over the talk radio playing in his stereo.

"One sec, I just want to make sure…" She watches as Miranda gets into her car and drives off. "Water and John." She directs, settling back into her seat.

"You know, in my day…" The cabbie began, flying down Second Ave, empty in pre-dawn hours. "We saw our dates home."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do, and maybe you won't be cabbing it alone." He winks in the rearview mirror, catching her eye.

.

Andy flings herself back onto the bed, frustrated. It's been fifteen minutes of tossing and turning. By all accounts, she should have been ready to pass out, the sky tinting grayish blue, but for some reason, she can't seem to sleep. Too wired, she decides to give herself another fifteen minutes, then she's getting up and watching whatever awful marathon is on one of those chick channels. Her phone buzzes.

.

M. Priestly: I can't recall the last time I was up this late.

.

Andy smiles and flips over on her stomach, typing her response.

.

Andy: I believe you mean up this early.

M. Priestly: Oh, do you now?

Andy: I do.

.

The phone rings.

.

"Well, what are you doing still up?"

"Oh you know, a night of sin and debauchery." Andy teases.

"Is that what you call it?"

"Why can't you sleep?"

"Oh, a night of endless passion by the light of my desk."

"I'm jealous."

"Good, I like you jealous."

.

A silence.

.

"Come over."

"I… Have another idea."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The sky is on fire by the time Miranda's cab pulls up to the pier. Or at least that's what it seems like to Andy, who's squinting in the rising sun. "Good Morning." Andy greets her, holding out a white cup.

"Well this certainly helps." Miranda takes the offered cup, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Coffee? Sunrise?"

"The location."

"Oh…" Andy shrugs as they begin to walk north along the park. "I couldn't sleep, you couldn't sleep…Besides, isn't this what people do after dinner? Go for a walk?" She offers Miranda her arm and blushes as the other woman takes it. "We had dinner… and now we have the walk."

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

"Not at all." She smiles to the woman at her side, "I know I'm clever. Besides, I wanted to see you again."

"Why didn't you come over then?"

"I…don't think either of us are ready for that." Andy admits. "I know I'm not. Are you?"

"No, I suppose not. I didn't mean the invitation that way. I suppose…I just wanted to see you again. I mean, we were both up."

"And now we both get to see the sun rise over Manhattan."

"Andrea, your attempts at romance are wasted on me." Miranda smirks, tightening her grip on Andy's arm.

"So you say. Indulge me anyway."

"You're thinking about something. Tell me."

"It's unnerving how you do that."

"Well…" Miranda cocks her head to one side. "Perhaps if every thought wasn't plastered across that little face of yours I wouldn't be able to. I must say Dear, you should work on that, if for no reason than for professional ones."

"I have been getting all sorts of interesting advice today." Andy teases. "Between you and the cabbie."

"And what did this 'cabbie' advice you?" Miranda asks, stopping short.

"You can't see it on my face?" Andrea navigates them to the railing and looks out across the Hudson.

"Only one of us finds you amusing Andrea, and it's certainly not me."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I was otherwise unengaged and -"

"I mean, with me in general. Miranda, -"

"Andrea dear, I am not in the habit of second guessing myself, or my choices. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"In a way."

"Yes, or no Andrea, no quibbling."

"Well I quibble Miranda."

"So I am learning. Fine, out with it. What are wondering? Really, what are you wondering, and just spit it out."

"You said you could ignore what you felt for me. What is it that you feel?"

"Andrea, I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing."

"Much Ado."

"There's that much lauded American education at play."

"And there's that notorious skill for dodging that which you don't want to answer."

"Touché. If I answer this, will you answer one of my questions?"

"Yes."

"Fine. If you must know what I feel for you Andrea, all I can say is I feel for you." She raises a hand to pause the inevitable. "I don't feel for many people. One day you weren't even a memory, and the next you were, a breeze, standing in my kitchen, doing dishes or some absurd thing. And I remember thinking, as I wrapped the apron around your waist, that I could brush back your lion's mane of hair and press my lips to the nape of your neck. I could just…hold you and be content. And I never stopped thinking about it. About you, and about me, and about what it would mean about me if I did it, and about what it would mean about you if you let me, and what people would say and people would think and then you kissed me. And I kissed you back. Then you were gone and I missed you. How could I miss you when I barely know you? This is your peculiar little gift Andrea, your insidious way of burrowing into someone's…life. I didn't want to miss you, I wanted you beside me. Possessive, yes, but then again, I'm not known for playing well with others."

"No Miranda," Andy places a quick peck on her shoulder, "You are not. Thank you, for that."

"Yes, well, please remember self-confidence is an attractive trait Andrea, and you have much to be confidant about. Now, I shall have my turn. After the…kiss, you didn't call. You didn't write, or text. Why?"

"Ah, wow. Fair enough."

"I am nothing if not fair. When I want to be."

"While kissing you, all I could do was think 'This is how I wants to die'. It was, incredible, and I had wanted to do that for much longer than I know."

"I could tell."

"You could not!"

"I could. Every thought across that beautiful face of yours, remember?"

"Well, after you showed to me to the door. Kicked me to the curb, so to speak, I didn't know if that would be the last time I saw you, or touched you. I made it clear how I felt about you and I half wanted to leave the next step to you and half…wanted to keep it perfect and protected."

"How unrealistically romantic Andrea." Miranda says, setting her jaw. "I'll ask you not to test me again. Life can be cruel, unexpectedly and unintentionally, and so can I. I don't want to start this off with anything but the truth. I will disappoint you otherwise. Do you understand?"

"That was never my intention, but yes."

"Good. Good." She turns her back to the river and looks at the woman at her side, and the city at her feet.

"What a beautiful city." Andy sighs, matching the other woman's stance. "You know, I had grown up on all these movies about New York, I still…feel sometimes like this is a giant set. My favorite was 'Bells Are Ringing' with the dance at the foot of the bridge? I'm boring you." Andy states, blushing at noticing Miranda's discreet yawn.

"Not at all, I am exhausted. I think today is starting to hit me."

"Then let's get you home." Once again, she offers her arm to Miranda as they begin to walk back down the pier.

"I am still curious Andrea, what did that cabbie say to you?"

"Ah, that is advice for another day…"


End file.
